


Waves

by slipsthrufingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Loss of Parent(s), Married Couple, Married Life, Post-Canon, Tarth, as a family, because that is my jam, gratuitous use of water metaphors, they are increasing, with a big fluff chaser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/pseuds/slipsthrufingers
Summary: "We're almost there," she breathed.Before the sun has risen, Brienne drags Jaime up Evenfall's tallest tower. He'll follow her anywhere.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 213





	Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samirant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/gifts), [Luthien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/gifts).



> A belated, combined birthday present to both Samirant and Luthien <3
> 
> Thank you to nire for helping.
> 
>  **note:** This is the closest to a sequel to The Tides as you're ever likely to get. But it is not a sequel to The Tides. Except in spirit. And in that case it super is a sequel to The Tides. But it's not. I hope that clears things up.

“We’re almost there,” Brienne said breathlessly as they reached the landing. Jaime lightly pressed his hand into the small of her back, wanting to guide her, support her, he wasn’t sure. But she turned and shot him an irritated look for his troubles so he withdrew the hand and quirked an apologetic eyebrow at her.

Still, he paused on the landing for a moment or two to allow her to catch her breath. She tired so easily these days, though she remained determined to see to all her usual responsibilities. He had suggested to her several months back that she give a few of them up—let her castellan or the maester or even him see to some of it—but she had reacted so poorly to the suggestion that he had immediately taken it back and hadn’t brought it up again.

But now she was feeling the burden. The maester had told them the day before that he did not think she would be much longer. The babe could come today, or it might take another few weeks, but to be ready in anycase. He had specifically cautioned her against any strenuous activity and made her promise, in no uncertain terms, that she would not pick up a sword again until she was delivered of the babe, and she had begrudgingly acquiesced.

Jaime should have expected that _the very next day_ she would wake early, wake before the sun had properly risen, and insist on climbing the watchtower. At first, in his confusion, in his exhaustion, he had protested. Said they could do it later. But he could not wilfully ignore his wife’s stubbornness for long. This was the woman who had dragged him about the country, first south on a rope, then all around the Riverlands and the Vale with the force of her determination to find Sansa Stark. If, after all of that, he had followed her north to join the fight against the others, then he should have known he would follow her up the tower at dawn.

She was his wife, after all. And he loved her more than life itself. He would follow her for the rest of his days, if she allowed it. 

That was all he’d wanted to do, after everything. After they had found Sansa and returned her to her home. After they had journeyed to The Wall, and endured the relentless darkness of the Long Night together. When it became clear that it was _done_ that they had _won_ and they had to figure out how to _live_ now, instead of just survive. 

“ _Where do you want to go?”_ she had asked him. “ _Winterfell? Casterly?”_

“ _Wherever_ you _go,_ ” he replied without hesitation, and when she looked surprised at his answer he drew her close and kissed her, surprising her further still.

Now she was blotchy and red with exertion, and her upper-lip beaded with sweat, but he still wanted to kiss her. That impulse hadn’t faded with time. Even when he was tired and she bewildered him with her desire to do mystifying things, such as climb the tallest watchtower in Evenfall while heavily pregnant. 

She turned and looked with determination at the final set of stone stairs that spiralled on ahead of them. It was only because he had been following her for years, watching her closely all the while, the way that only a man smitten with love can, that he saw the sliver of hesitation, the gasp of weariness.

“There is no rush,” he said, reaching for her again to rest his hand against her waist. If he thought she would let him he would have lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. He had done it time and time again in their chambers, proved his claim that he was _strong enough_. But she would object now, citing her heavy belly and the fear of what should happen should he drop her. All he could do instead was offer his support and hope that she would take it.

And she did, leaning ever-so-lightly into his hand as she closed her eyes.

But it was just for a moment.

“We’re almost there,” she repeated, taking another breath. And then she was gone again, ascending the spiralling stairs one at a time. Slowly, yes, but rising higher with every step, and he was there beside her, hand hovering an inch over her backside to catch her if it looked like she would fall.

But Brienne did not fall. They climbed together, winding around until the stairwell began to glow as the beacon at the top reflected off the white marble stone and overwhelmed the light of the torches still lit. Finally they stepped out onto the landing where the beacon stood, glittering and proud, still lit brightly in the dawning light. 

It was lit before dusk every night in storm season by the watchman on duty, and checked periodically throughout the night. Soon enough the guard would change and a man would climb the stairs, just as Jaime and Brienne had done, and would extinguish the lantern in the middle of all the glass. Sometime during the day, when the array of glass and crystals had had a chance to cool, the maester would come and inspect the mechanism for damage and take note of any wear and tear that might later become a problem. He would refill the lantern’s oil and reset the wick ready for another guard to light it later that day. The process was considered a sacred duty by all on Tarth, and was repeated at various locations about the island. But this light tower was by far the tallest and most grand; it had been Tarth’s first and etched into the bronze base were their house words: _First Light in the Dark_.

The air was fresh and light and the Straits of Tarth stretched out endlessly beyond the tall windows of the beacon room. Brienne did not pause to appreciate the sight. She turned left to open the door onto the balcony and Jaime was left to follow her once more.

Out here the breeze was stronger but not unpleasant. There was a salty quality to the air that was refreshing, though when he had first arrived on the island it had reminded him of his childhood. Now it simply meant he was home. With his wife. He’d never thought he would be this happy.

She was standing against the balcony looking out across the sea. It seemed to him she was made for dawning light. Her pale skin bloomed in the pinks and oranges and blues and her eyes, the blue eyes he loved so much. The breeze gently pushed at the blue dress she wore and he stilled it when he came to stand behind her, pressing himself against her back and wrapping his arms around her wide middle, stump and hand cradling their child within her. He pressed a kiss to the little constellation of freckles where her neck sloped into her shoulder, then again a little higher just below her ear. In response she turned her head to catch his lips with her own. 

It was a wonderful moment. Quiet. Alone together with only the wind and the waves to watch them. They had both been so busy lately, and soon, perhaps very soon, they would have a little one to care for too. 

They kissed leisurely, with no aim or goal in mind but to share this moment with one another and breathe the same crisp air. Eventually they drew apart, and she resumed looking out across the water. He rested his chin against her shoulder and looked out too, scanning the waves to see if he could figure out what she was looking for, what she was thinking.

The colour of the sky and of the sea changed before their eyes, shifting from an inky black to a burnished orange as the sun rose behind them to light the world. This early in the morning the air was clear enough to see the mainland, though it was only a sliver of rocky cliffs in the distance. Soon enough the orange blended into pink before melting away to leave the greenish sapphire waters behind. Already they could see life on the water—bigger fishing vessels sailing with surprising speed out into the main shipping lane, the smaller ones moving from one side of the bay to another, likely checking on crab traps left anchored all along the shoreline.

Jaime wondered what the life of a crabber was like, whether it was as tumultuous and unpredictable as his own. Did the man checking his traps today know that this would be his life? Was he happy? Did he have any regrets? He wondered if people looked at him and thought the same. The only surviving Lannister giving up his seat in the Westerlands to marry a lowly Stormlands lady. Oh he had heard the songs, of course. _The Kingslayer and the Maid_ , and _Her Loyalty, His Honour_ , but they were just songs. The singers who had crafted them had only heard tell of their story in passing, and still it was just that: a story. They did not hold a mirror to his life, living it.

“What are you thinking of?” Brienne asked him quietly, voice low and wonderful.

“Songs,” he replied honestly. “The ones they sing of us.”

Predictably, she scrunched her nose. She had never been able to stand to listen to them for long; all of the tavern owners at Evenfall knew not to let their singers play those songs, lest their lady stop by and hear them. “You better not start singing any.”

He chuckled and kissed her neck again. “I promised I would not, and I mean to keep all of my promises to you, no matter how silly or small they may be.”

She shifted her arms to settle over his; her left hand over his and her right squeezed gently around his stump.

They stood like that a little longer, wrapped up together. But finally he asked the question she had refused to answer when she’d woken him up an hour ago and told him where they were to go, “Why did you want to come here?”

Of course, now that he was here with her he could see the appeal. It was quiet and peaceful in a way the rest of the castle wasn’t, and they’d hardly had a moment to stop and think since she had discovered she was with child.

Instead of answering him she hummed a little noise and grabbed his left hand firmly with her own. She closed all but one of his fingers into a fist, leaving his pointer finger extended and then she stretched it out to point at something in the water. He traced it with his eyes to see, in the far distance, the white cap of a wave.

“You want to watch the waves? We could see them easily enough from the beach.”

She bucked her hips back into his pelvis in a playful reprimand. He chuckled and she smiled. “Watch closely,” she said.

Jaime did as his lady commanded, and gazed back out across the water, finding the stretch of sea she had pointed out to him. The white caps had disappeared, leaving a spance as flat as a mirror, reflecting the few clouds above. But she still had his pointed hand in hers and she moved it suddenly to point a little further to the north. “There!”

He followed her direction, eyes darting to see another white cap split the sapphire sea, a mist of white spray shooting high into the air. Impossibly high for water as calm as this. “What is that?” he asked, pressing closer against her so he could see better. 

“A whale,” she said. “A few, actually. A pod.” She let go of his fist and circled carefully around what he’d simply thought was a shadow of deeper water. But now he was watching closely he could see how the creatures moved just beneath the surface, swimming leisurely north. 

He could not keep in the soft noise of awe as he tracked them through the water. Every now and then one or the other would breach the surface, coming up to let out a spurt of water and take in a gasp of air. “How did you know we would see some?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t. I hoped. Mathew told me yesterday that a few captains had reported seeing some, though it is early in the season.”

They were marvellous to watch. Even from this distance he could appreciate their size; the biggest was longer than many of the ships that docked at Tarth, save the bigger frigates that crossed back and forth to Essos. He could not imagine how daunting it would be to be beside them in one of the fishing sloops checking crab pots at the other end of the bay. “Have you seen one up close?” he breathed.

“A few times. My father would often take me out into the bay in mating season and they seemed to like putting on a show for us. Look!”

The biggest whale had breached the surface, jumping and seeming to somehow defy gravity as it hung in the air for a moment before it crashed back into the blue and disappeared within. The other two followed suit, leaping into the air and back into the water with an incredible splash. The last of the three was considerably smaller than the other two. A baby.

“It’s a family,” he said, knowing he sounded almost giddy, but he could not help himself. Nor could he have stopped himself from wrapping his arms around her tightly.

She hummed against him, an affirmative noise, and a pensive one. Then she began to speak, “Father told me they live in the north for the most part, but they come south in winter to give birth in the warmer waters. You see them swimming south in autumn and in spring you see them return north with a child in tow.”

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured. And they were. Magnificent, massive creatures. As large and intimidating as Daenerys's dragons, but peaceful and calm instead of threatening. Surely they were the kings of the ocean. Gods. Because what could take them down. Who would want to?

She gripped his hand tightly, breathing in—a deep breath, deep enough to draw notice when it caught on a sob, taking him by surprise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused, shifting her in his arms so that he was facing her, rather than the water.

At first she shook her head, tried to push him away and dismiss her grief. But Jaime knew her well enough to be able to subdue her protest and pulled her closer again, only her distended belly between them.

"I wish my father was still here," she said, the sadness in her words impossible to miss.

Jaime had not had the honour of meeting Selwyn Tarth. He had died during the war, when Jon Connington's forces had invaded the island. But not for the first time he wished he had met the man. There was a portrait of him hung in the family solar, painted, according to Brienne, just before she had left Tarth to join Renly Baratheon's forces on the mainland. He stood tall, despite evidence of hard years in the lines of his face and the arthritic twist of his shoulders. The artist had still, somehow, made him look kind. It was in the eyes; the same eyes as his daughter. Bright and clear and as pure as his sapphire waters. Every tale Jaime had heard of the man since returning to the island with his daughter had supported that assumption: that Selwyn Tarth was a kind man and a great Evenstar.

Brienne had struggled with her father’s death for a long time, with the guilt. She had been fighting with Jaime in the North when Selwyn had died, fighting for the living against the dead. But that was little comfort to her and Jaime found himself at a loss to help ease her burden. Like her, he had lost his mother at a young age though he barely remembered her and while he too had lost his father, it seemed to him that Selwyn Tarth and Tywin Lannister could not have been more different had they tried.

But he had thought she had found some peace with it, these last few months. It seemed he was mistaken and she’d been hiding the extent of her grief. She didn’t hide her next sob from him, burying it in the crook of his shoulder.

“I know. I know…” he said, a whispered comfort—nonsense in the scheme of things, but it was all he could do. He could make comforting noises and hold her and listen and hope that that would be enough. He tightened his arms around her. “Is that why you brought me up here? You miss him?” he asked as gently as possible. 

“ _Yes_ ,” she said on another cry. 

He buried his nose in her flaxen hair and kissed her. Let her sob. Let her cry. Held her all the while, until finally, _finally_ , she seemed to calm. Her breathing evened out, and though she hiccuped once or twice it seemed they had weathered the worst of it together for the moment. Carefully he pulled away, but only far enough so that he could look on her face. Her eyes swollen and puffy but still his favourite eyes in the world. He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “How long have you been holding this in?” he asked.

The question itself seemed to provoke another bout of feeling and she closed her eyes and turned her face away, back towards the water while she strived for her composure. He stayed at her side, kept holding her close until she was calm enough to speak. “He would have loved our child so much, Jaime.”

“As we will love them,” Jaime agreed, stretching his palm out across her belly. At night, sometimes, she would guide his hand across stretched skin to feel what she could feel, the kicks and bumps and signs of life. He liked to think the baby could feel him there, only a few inches away.

“He deserved to live to see his line continue.”

“But he did. He lived to see _you_ live.”

Brienne scoffed. 

“I mean it,” he insisted. “It was all my father could talk of, the _Lannister Legacy_ , and it broke us all trying to live up to what he wanted from us. I told you what he did to Tyrion when he did not marry someone appropriate. You saw what happened to Cersei… Your father, from all he told me, he could have remarried. He could have had more children, yet he didn’t. He was content with _you_. He knew you would carry on his line.”

“I don’t see why—”

“I do.” Jaime smiled wryly. “I could see why he would be proud of you. You’re one of the heroes of the long night. And I know you don’t like to hear the songs, but perhaps you need to be reminded. I think I remember a few verses of _The Hero of the Night_ I could sing for you?”

It was a gentle tease, and tender, but he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to sing a few bars, knowing full well that his voice was just as likely to crack the glass of the invaluable beacon behind them as it was to carry a tune.

“Stop,” she said, bringing her hand up to cover his smiling mouth.

He wrenched his face away from her hand and continued on, beacon be damned. “ _Darkness fell across the land and men marched northward bound_ \--”

She laughed. “ _Don’t!_ ”

“ _But amongst their ranks was Brienne of Tarth, who always stood her ground_!”

“That’s not how it goes!” she gasped and shoved him a little.

“Oh you know how it goes, do you? I thought you didn’t _like_ the songs.”

“Sometimes I don’t know why I married you,” she huffed. “You’re a ridiculous man.”

He surged up and kissed her. Kissed her until he could feel her smile again. When they came apart this time it felt a little more peaceful. The breeze still blew gently, though the sun had risen enough that it had begun to warm the air. Already he could tell it would be a warm day.

“Your father loved you, Brienne. I never met the man but I can say that with confidence. He would have loved our child because it was your child,” he said, eyes locked on hers. There were no tears this time, so he added, “He probably would’ve hated me. Most people do.”

She scoffed again. “Only because you would’ve insisted on saying something witty and insulting because you were nervous.”

“I am quite sure I don’t do that.”

Brienne opened her mouth, ready with a reposte, but paused and reached for his hand to press it against the side of her stomach. He felt the deliberate press against his hand, and though he’d felt it many times by now, it still sent a shiver down his spine. “They’re awake,” she said, then she grimaced as the baby likely pressed up against her bladder instead of her hand.

“Must’ve wanted to watch the whales with us,” he mused, looking up at her then out once more to the water, hoping he would catch another glimpse of the wonderful creatures before they swam out of sight.

But he could not spot them anymore. The water was flat and undisturbed as far as the eye could see. He turned to Brienne and his disappointment must have shown on his face because she scanned the horizon too, before shaking her head and shrugging. “We will see others,” she said as a consolation. The baby kicked his hand again.

Jaime smiled. “I’m sure we will.”


End file.
